


Chaos

by RosalindBeatrice



Series: McLennon Drabbles [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14918295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindBeatrice/pseuds/RosalindBeatrice
Summary: @Savageandwise said: “300 words on chaos.”





	Chaos

He knew what John would think of the title.

“It’s not a good one, is it?” he said aloud to the empty office. He felt freer to talk to John when Heather wasn’t around. Linda had never mentioned it. Heather, on the other hand, had a comment for everything.

He knew what John would say in reply. “One, it’s crap. Two, it’s crap. Three”—here he would pause and slide his glasses down his nose so that he could look Paul in the eye and make sure he was listening—“what the hell kind of chaos ever went on in Jim McCartney’s backyard, anyway? Did he forget to pull a weed one summer?”

Paul would argue, “Look, I know it sounds like rubbish, but ...” He would tell John that he got the idea from pictures of nebulas. Star nurseries. Out of nothing came a chaos of dust and light and life. “You knew what it was like. You were there,” he’d say.

He would invite John to remember how, when the earth was starting to awaken and the grass hadn’t anchored it yet, and the mud slipped under their shoes, they would pull a chair apiece into the back garden and sit knee to knee teasing a Carl Perkins song into its component parts and shrouding themselves in a cloud of cigarette smoke. Their fingers would dance across the necks of the guitars and all at once there would be a riff in their midst that had nothing to do with Perkins.

“What do you think of that?” John would say, squinting.

Paul had known that this was never actually an invitation to express an unfavourable opinion, so if the riff didn’t quite jive, he simply countered with a variant of his own. John would echo it or add a few more notes, and by the time the sun was sinking and a leftover bit of winter chill was creeping into the air, they were singing, “ _My baby says she’s travellin’ on the one after 909_.”

“That’s what I mean,” said Paul into the empty office.

In his head, he saw John roll his eyes. “It’s sentimental twaddle,” he said. “Just like everything else you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> @Savageandwise said: “300 words on chaos.”


End file.
